He Did It In My Mouth

Had Cal approached me 18 months earlier, I would not have understood what he wanted and I would have found it easy to flee. But that changed about 18 months earlier when an older friend explained to me that “cocksucker” was more than a derisive word used by males to provoke other males. Instead, I was in awe of the explanation that some males actually suck on the cocks of other males and that is how the word “cocksucker” had come into being. Honestly, I felt dizzy just hearing that simple explanation and all I could think about was someday being able to suck on a hard cock, even though I had no desire to earn the label of “queer” or “homo” or anything of the sort. I thought about it all of the time and fantasized nightly to thoughts of having one of those hard things in my mouth, but I was a bit shy and lacked confidence and didn’t imagine that I would ever actually do it. In fact, when I began going to the Basement after school to plays games with others my age, I would never have anticipated that such an environment would become the place where it would happen. The Basement was under what had formerly been a recreational center and an after-school center before it failed financially and was purchased by business people for offices. As a concession for the many kids who would otherwise be displaced and unsupervised, kids like me, the new owners cleared the Basement and permitted us to congregate there as long as we didn’t vandalize it which was not likely to happen since ...
we were grateful for the shelter and also because we often had oversight by a parent or a grandparent. Although I was a boy, I found it much more to my liking to hang out with girls who came to the Basement. They were far less aggressive and confrontational and I just found it easier to relate to them. Taylor was a cute girl and we became friends although not close enough that we would hang out together away from the Basement. Cal was Taylor’s grandfather. He didn’t come to the Basement at all during my first two weeks there. Then, he came several times a week and sometimes, he came every day. I liked him. He was kind and somewhat affable. He talked to me a lot and I felt pride that he paid more attention to me than the others. A couple of weeks after first meeting him, I left the Basement earlier than usual and once outside, he called to me and talked about things I don’t remember except for one part that I remember very clearly—he said I was a “very pretty boy”. When I was very young, I was often mistaken for being a girl. When people would meet one of my parents, they would sometimes say, “And, what a pretty little girl you have”, or they would ask me, “What is your name little girl?” I can’t count the times that happened but I can say that I loved it and wanted it. So, when Cal said I was a pretty boy, those feelings surged quickly. I thanked him and smiled and felt such great warmth and pride that he had said that. I spent the night trying to sort out crazy notions that
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